Where the green grass grows ch 5

The Hollywood Dirt Trade

The morning sun cut through the tinted, panoramic glass of the penthouse office, casting a sharp glare across Gina Kincaid’s desk. Outside, the chaotic, high-energy rhythm of Hollywood boulevard stretched out below, but inside, the atmosphere was quiet, calculated, and dangerous. On the glass door, gold lettering read Kincaid Intelligence & Associates, but everyone in the zip code knew what it really was: the premier agency for digging up high-profile Hollywood dirt.

Gina leaned back in her leather chair, staring out at the palm trees. She swirled a pen between her fingers, her mind drifting to her past. She had learned a lot from her old mentor, Jonesy. The erratic, sharp-tongued bounty hunter had taught her how to read people, how to track a paper trail through hell, and most importantly, how to never show fear when the sharks came circling. Jonesy’s cutthroat survival instincts had shaped her into the powerhouse she was today.

A sharp knock broke her trance. The heavy wooden door swung open, and none other than John Ross Ewing walked into the room.

Gina didn’t flinch. She wasn’t the least bit surprised to see a Texas oil baron standing in her office. John Ross commanded the space instantly, his sharp western-cut suit and polished boots looking entirely out of place in the minimalist, modern office, yet he carried himself with an absolute, predatory confidence.

"Miss Kincaid," John Ross said, his voice dropping into a slow, dangerous Texas drawl as he tipped the brim of his Stetson hat. "They tell me if a man wants to find the skeleton in a Beverly Hills closet, your doorstep is the first one he ought to step over."

"Mr. Ewing," Gina replied smoothly, gesturing for him to take a seat across from her. "Word travels fast. What brings Southfork to the West Coast?"

John Ross didn't waste time on pleasantries. He leaned forward, resting his hands on her desk, his eyes turning cold as ice. "I need you to look into Noah Hunter. Hunter Oil is trying to play a game they aren't equipped for, and I want to know exactly where the fractures are. I want his personal life, his offshore corporate routing numbers, his taxes—everything. Find me the leverage to break him."

Gina kept her expression entirely neutral, masking the sudden spike of adrenaline in her chest. Inside, she was more than interested. Given her deep, tumultuous history and personal connections in Beverly Hills, she had a unique, inside look into the exact elite circles Noah operated in. She already knew the players, the local alliances, and the whispers floating around the Beach Club.

"Noah Hunter is a heavy hitter, John Ross," Gina said, a calculating smile playing on her lips as she slid a retainer contract across the desk. "But nobody is untouchable. My agency will take the contract. I'll have the first batch of dirt on your desk by tonight."

"That's what I like to hear," John Ross smiled, signing the paper with a flourish. "Just make sure it's lethal."

Meanwhile, less than a mile away on a secluded, sun-drenched terrace overlooking the canyons, Teddy was pace-walking, his jaw tight with anxiety. He held his smartphone tight to his ear, listening to the heavy, rhythmic breathing on the other end of the line. He was speaking to his long-time trusted friend, retired Colonel Gedeon—an elite international intelligence expert who spent decades operating in the shadows of government warfare.

"I need eyes on him immediately, Gedeon," Teddy instructed, his voice low, sharp, and urgent. "John Ross Ewing just landed in town, and a man like that doesn't leave Texas unless he's looking to bleed someone dry. You are officially tasked to follow him around. Shadow his movements, tap his local lines, see what he's up to, and find out everything you can. I want to know exactly what he's doing before he even thinks about doing it. If he hooks his claws into Beverly Hills, he's going to tear the whole structure down."

"Consider it done," Colonel Gedeon’s gravelly voice replied. "He won't even see the shadow."

Miles away, far from the corporate warfare and international espionage, the silence inside the Mercedes-Benz dealership of Van Nuys was completely deafening. Kelly Taylor stood alone in the center of the pristine, newly renovated showroom. The concrete floors were polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the bright fluorescent lights overhead, but the emptiness of the space only mirrored the heavy weight inside her chest.

She leaned against the fender of a sleek, black sedan, her hands trembling. Seeing Brandon Walsh at the Beach Club fundraiser the night before had completely shattered the fragile, manufactured peace she had built. Staring out the showroom window, Kelly told herself that when she looked into Brandon’s eyes, a terrifying, beautiful truth had washed over her: she realized she could love more than one person at once. The human heart was a fragile, messy thing, and her history with Brandon was an unshakeable gravity.

Then, all of a sudden, the crushing memory of everything that had happened with Colin Robbins came rushing back to her all at once. The manipulation, the addiction, the chaos, and the emotional wreckage that had nearly swallowed her alive—it all hit her like a physical blow. Kelly's composure completely broke. She sank onto a leather bench in the showroom, burying her face in her hands as the tears finally spilled over, her shoulders shaking in the quiet room.

But as the wave of grief and memory subsided, Kelly wiped her eyes, her jaw setting with a quiet, fierce resolve. She wasn't that helpless girl anymore. She truly loved her husband. She was completely dedicated to her marriage and the life they were building. She felt a deep, agonizing repentance for the fractures, mistakes, and temptations of her past. She was determined to protect her future, no matter what ghosts storms were trying to drag her back into the dark.